Chapter 18 - LUCAS’S LETTER
Nora, I am sorry I used a place you trusted without asking. There. No heroic justification first. Then: Daniel told me you would say no if asked. I laughed. Of course. Then: That should have been the reason to ask, not the reason to avoid asking. My eyes filled. Then: I thought the stakes were too high for consent. That is what people in our line of work tell themselves when we become dangerous. There. Then: If I survive, I will apologize in person. He did not. Then: If I don’t, please do not turn me into a hero. I was an accountant who made a risky choice. Good. Then: The only thing I hope you keep is this: ordinary people notice more than powerful people think. Then: But noticing does not make you responsible for fixing everything. I cried. That was the sentence I needed. Then Rachel had added a note: “He wrote this the night before he died.” I closed letter. Then put it with Daniel’s old hard-drive letter. Not shrine. A file. Then Sam asked: “You okay?” “Yes.” Then: “Really?” “Yes.” This time true. Then we decided to remove the evidence sticker from old phone? Could damage. We left.
Then I stored phone in drawer. No display. Then one year later, Highway Star Diner celebrated seventy years open. Community event. Jack came back. Amy gave speech under three minutes because Jack enforced rule. Elise attended. Warren. Susan. Linda. Teresa Boyd. Rachel Granger. Daniel and his new wife? Maybe Nora could invite. Did I want? Yes, after years. He came. Sam shook his hand. No weirdness. Then someone asked about memorial bench. Rachel said: “Lucas hated benches.” We laughed. Then we considered replacing with tree. Rachel wanted bench kept because joke now. Fine. Then Daniel came to me. “I got married.” “I know.” Then: “Are you happy?” “Yes.” “You?” “Yes.” Good. Then: “Do you forgive me?” He had asked before. I said: “More.” He smiled. Then: “That’ll do.” Then Amy’s mother Linda approached. “I’m sorry.” “Specific?” She laughed. Everyone learned. Then: “For telling Martin about the box and ignoring what the campaign money looked like.” I nodded. “I forgive you.” She cried. Then Elise stood nearby. “Are we doing absolution line?”
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“No.” We laughed. Then Martin Shaw died in prison years later? Not needed. Then Derek wrote once more. I did not read. Sam asked: “Want me to throw it away?” “No.” I mailed it back unopened with note: I hope you use your time well. I do not want contact. Boundary. Then no more letters. Good. Then Highway Star hired a young cook named Mateo? All characters don't need white Americans now story can diversify? User targets US, but original characters white Americans. We can add, but no need. Then one night rain hit windows exactly like robbery night. I stood behind counter. Chair in same spot. No gun. A customer dropped cup. I flinched. Then laughed. Trauma not gone. Smaller. Then Sam said: “Home?” I looked around diner. “This is home too.” Then we locked up. Then I saw red blinking light from new security camera. For years a red recording light meant danger. Now it meant our system was working. Cloud backup. Multiple access. Transparency. Then I smiled. But one question remained for me personally. Would I ever delete Derek’s robbery video from my old phone?
Evidence was preserved elsewhere. Legally I could. Keeping it was my choice. And deciding what memory deserved to remain would become the last test of whether the case still owned me.
